


The Last Battle

by FancyTrinkets



Series: Ineffable Audioerotica [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyTrinkets/pseuds/FancyTrinkets
Summary: Aziraphale was certain that plenty of pornographic audiobooks were for sale on the internet. If he were so inclined, he could probably have purchased warehouses full of them. But that wasn't the point.Conclusion toThe Angel LineandThe Naked Truth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Audioerotica [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546456
Comments: 140
Kudos: 601
Collections: Ineffable Audioerotica





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the wonderful [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/works), who also writes fic and does art (and you should go check out her amazing work.)

_A.D. 2006_

Aziraphale was certain that plenty of pornographic audiobooks were for sale on the internet. If he were so inclined, he could probably have purchased warehouses full of them. But that wasn't the point. He did enjoy the titillating subject matter — _oh, yes, he did_. But if that were all he was looking for, he'd simply buy the books directly and read them himself. He only wanted them as audiobooks insofar as it was Crowley's voice reading them aloud. 

He loved Crowley. He felt desire for Crowley. And though he couldn't ever be free to say it out loud directly — _my dear, I think our friendship is wonderful and also I'd like to be sexually intimate with you_ — there was nothing to stop him from imagining what it might be like. 

He had discovered that he greatly enjoyed thinking about sex with Crowley, about the ways their corporations would interact and respond to each other. He had stopped feeling guilty about it, and now these thoughts had become like a meditative exercise — one that was both relaxing and stimulating. 

He envisioned the warmth of Crowley's body, naked and pressing against his own. He imagined how it would feel to have Crowley touch and kiss each part of him — from forehead, lips, and jaw down to belly, thighs, and cock. He thought about the wetness and heat of Crowley's mouth. And he imagined Crowley's scent — pleasant and familiar, but grown thick and intoxicating with the musk of his desire. 

Aziraphale imagined pressing his face to Crowley's armpit and groin, breathing him in, and savoring every moment. He imagined touching the velvet skin of Crowley's penis, watching it grow from soft to hard. He thought about the way it would feel to spread his own legs to allow penetration. He imagined the lovestruck look in Crowley's eyes and he thought about how wonderful it would be, in that moment of physical intimacy, to tell him _I love you_.

He really needed another audiobook. 

He needed the sound of Crowley's voice surprising him with a new turn of phrase, narrating a new moment of intimacy between two characters. He needed Crowley whispering _oh, yes, thank God_ when at last those characters experienced the long-desired thrill of sexual joining. But most of all, he needed a new audiobook for all the possibility it held. 

What would Crowley say? Would he slip up again and breathe the word _angel_ as if it were a prayer? A brand new audiobook felt a lot like hope when he held it in his hands and lovingly opened the cover, extracted the first cassette, and slipped it carefully inside the tapedeck in order to listen.

He didn't think he would be so lucky as to find another one. He'd conducted a thorough internet search by way of miracle and he hadn't found anything else read by Anthony J. Crowley or his ridiculous pseudonym, C.J. Anthony. But it couldn't hurt to search again, in case another of those old audiobooks just so happened to come up for sale.

In many ways, Aziraphale appreciated the value of doing things the human way. He liked the flavor of food when it was prepared and cooked, rather than summoned from the elements by miracle. He liked magic tricks done the human way. Even their word for magic — prestidigitation — was fun. It was almost a tongue twister and those, too, were delightful. Humans had a lot of good ideas, no use denying that. 

But the internet was another beast entirely. It was a nightmare of a thing that could only be dealt with properly by exerting the brute force of Heaven against it.

The good thing about searching online via miracle was that he didn't need to make elaborate excuses. He reported it for Heavenly audit as pertaining to the business of operating a bookshop. After all, he had to blend in with the humans and their lifestyles. The only part of his last report that had been flagged for follow up was the term "audiobook," which Heaven couldn't seem to decipher. His paperwork had been returned to him marked "revise and resubmit" with the word "audiobook" circled and a question written into the margins: "Is this pornography!?"

And that had been — well, awkward. Because in this particular case, yes, it absolutely was pornography. Aziraphale creatively dodged the question by answering in the categorical sense rather than the specific. He scrawled his reply in the margins: "Audiobooks are not, by their nature, pornographic — although it is possible to find examples that might be." He added a description that he hoped would prevent future misunderstandings: "they are book-adjacent paraphernalia for the modern human that allows them to listen to a book rather than to read it." 

Heaven had accepted the revised report without further trouble. That meant he could redo the same miracle and not worry about being flagged for frivolity. So, not really expecting to find anything new, he searched the entire internet once more. But there it was — an audiobook narrated by C.J. Anthony. Better still, it was different than either of the other two.

Aziraphale ordered it immediately. 

By the time it arrived a few days later, he had upgraded his listening device. He was still using the old Walkman that he'd retrieved from the lost and found box at the back of his shop, but now it was restored by way of miracle (also pertaining to the business of running a bookshop). In place of the shabby, disintegrating foam, the pads of its headphones were now bright, clean, and soft as new. The slightly off-kilter door of the cassette deck now opened and closed smoothly. And the entire device was free of nicks and scratches. All in all, it was mint condition, a lovely specimen for its age.

His slid the black cassette into the deck, pressed the buttons, and was rewarded with the treasured sound of Crowley's voice. 

"Better sit down and get ready for this one: _The Last Battle_ is a fantasy xeno-romance about a human wizard who summons a powerful immortal from the dark realms of fire. So, just let that sink in."

Crowley paused in his reading and Aziraphale could hear the sound of a drink being poured, stirred, and then sipped.

"You ready now? Because there's more and I think you'll enjoy this. This immortal being, the, er — well, let's just call him the demon, shall we? — he's not actually dwelling anywhere near the dark realms. He doesn't care for fire and brimstone. Turns out he's got a castle of his own, with a celestial observatory and a library — yes, I know!"

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley sounded like he was enjoying himself. He was even more conversational in his reading style than he had been in previous recordings — which was interesting, though Aziraphale wasn't sure what to make of it. 

"So," Crowley continued. "Our demon hero is just minding his own business doing his astrological research when one day — bang! — summoned." 

He'd been summoned, and now bound to the wizard, for a very specific purpose: to try and stop a war from destroying the human kingdoms.

"It's all very tense for a while," Crowley said. "But, you know, they fall in love and in the end... welllll, in the end the wizard dies. Sorry about that."

There was another long pause and Aziraphale could hear what sounded like Crowley scratching his chin in thought. 

"I'm going to change that part when we get there. Give it an addendum. The demon might, I don't know, reincorporate him to another human body? I mean, he wouldn't steal a body — what kind of a monster do you think I am? He'd craft a new version of the old one. With magic, obviously."

Aziraphale smiled. He understood that other audiobooks, generally speaking, did not work the same way as Crowley's. He knew they were supposed to be a faithful recording of the text on the page. But Crowley's were different. His demonic purpose, perhaps, was to frustrate listeners by veering wildly off script. Aziraphale found it charming. 

The wizard, Alexy, and the demon, Valence, were clearly a matched set from the start. Their research interests aligned and before long they were staying up late into the night, sharing insights and contemplating the nature of the earth, the cosmos, and the seven realms of fire. It was during one of these late night conversations in the wizard's private study when Valence pointed to an erotic illustration on the wall. His expression was curious. 

"'A pair of human men?' he said. And when Alexy nodded, the demon asked, 'Is that your proclivity?'"

"'It is... among my proclivities,' Alexy said. 'Lately, I find myself wondering if a genderless being like yourself has sexual proclivities to speak of.'"

"'I believe I can if sufficiently motivated,' Valence replied. He met Alexy's gaze with a look that seemed to burn with a fire of its own. 'I am not limited by the constraints of a human form. I could summon whatever phallus or orifice a partner might desire.'"

"'I admit, I do yearn for this,' Alexy said. 'And yet, I cannot indulge with you. Not whilst you are bound to me by magic.'"

Crowley cleared his throat. 

"So, they're going to quote a bunch of ethical philosophy at each other for the next dozen pages. I'm not going to read all that. Suffice it to say, they both want to, er, get horizontal. But they can't figure out a way to consent to each other properly given the confines of their... _arrangement_."

The choice of words was certainly not lost on Aziraphale. Here was a story of forbidden love. What made it forbidden was different than the constraints that pressed upon angel and demon, but still, their predicament was similar enough as to be deliciously compelling. 

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to hope for. If they gave in to their desires and fucked like he hoped they would, then they wouldn't really have chosen it freely. And that, in the end, would be unbearably sad. 

But if they didn't give in, how would they ever get to enjoy each other? They wouldn't. He already knew — thanks to Crowley's strong aptitude for giving away every significant piece of the ending within the first ten minutes of his reading — that Alexy was destined to die and that's what would finally free Valence. The demon would then make a choice on his own to soldier on and stop the war, and he would do it to honor Alexy's memory. 

Given these awful parameters, how could there possibly be any of the wild, unrestrained lovemaking that Aziraphale so desperately craved? There simply couldn't be. He paused the audiobook and he pouted down at the Walkman in his lap. 

And then it occurred to him: Crowley could improvise. He could use his own clever imagination to add in the scenes that the book itself sorely lacked. Suddenly and quite intensely, Aziraphale wanted only that. He wanted to hear what exquisite acts of hedonism and pleasure Crowley would come up with all on his own. Death of the author, indeed, he thought, and grinned to himself at the idea of it.

He was disappointed, then, when the book itself offered a path of resolution. Using magic again, Alexy cast a spell to allow Valence the freedom to choose whatever he wanted for one day. He wasn't powerful enough to break their compact fully, but a day of respite was more than what they needed to indulge in every form of sexual congress a pair of magical beings could imagine.

Aziraphale paused the book again and took a moment to imagine what it might be like to be granted that sort of liberty.

Surely Crowley would want to sample everything Aziraphale had to offer. He'd want to lick filthy wet kisses into Aziraphale's mouth, along the length of his cock, sucking him down deep into his throat and then pulling away to tease him open with that clever tongue. When he was good and slick and ready, Crowley would bring his own impossibly hard member to push against that most delicate opening. And then, and then, with a gentle thrust he would press inside, tentative at first. Urged on by Aziraphale's pleading cries of _yes, please, just like that_ , he would stroke in deep and sure. And then...

...oh, _Lord_ , and then...

Crowley would move. Slowly at first then faster. In actuality — not in wish or hope or fantasy, but in the real world — they would join together in the very human, very carnal act of copulation. They would fuck. They would fuck and it would feel good and they would both cry out with the unmitigated pleasure of being so impossibly close to each other. 

Oh, it would be romantic and perfect.

"I love you, Crowley," he whispered into the cluttered emptiness of the room in which he sat. "I love you and I miss you all the time."

By the end of the story, Aziraphale had tears in his eyes. Alexy's death was indeed a heroic act of sacrifice. Crowley narrated it with disdain, as though the author had personally insulted him.

"Pierced by arrows, bruised and bleeding, Alexy's lifeless body fell to the blood-soaked earth and rested there, amidst the refuse of battle — or amidst the refuse of this story, more like. The ending is garbage!"

He sighed loudly.

"Ugh, let them be together. I mean, why not? It's a fantasy. Not like the real world, where you can't have it–"

The rest of his rant seemed less relevant to the events of the book. 

"Stories are for wish fulfillment, right? Well, I can think of a few impossible wishes I'd like to fulfill the Hell out of. But no, it's beyond impossible. It's unfathomable! Can't even talk about it. For thousands of years you love him and you can't ssay a word. It's ssso frussstrating."

The recording went silent.

Aziraphale held back a sob. He tasted salt as he pressed his lips together. He wept openly now thanks to the story's sorrowful end and his best friend's heartbreaking confession.

Crowley cleared his throat into the microphone, and when he spoke again, he'd managed to get the hissing under control.

"Besides," he added, "they didn't even do any of that tentacle stuff the demon was talking about on page 96. I can't be the only one curious about the logistics of _that_."

Aziraphale laughed and wiped his face. Even with such a weight of sorrow, the clever lilt of Crowley's voice made him smile. He couldn't wait any longer. 

He had to see Crowley in person.

☆

Aziraphale searched his desk for note paper and an envelope. When he'd he found what he needed, he sat down to write a short letter to Crowley. And then he stared for a while at the blank page. 

Even after after all these years, he couldn't just invite a demon to lunch. He'd need a decent excuse — something related to The Arrangement was usually best — in keeping with their longstanding custom of nodding in the general direction of pretense. He had to at least suggest a purpose beyond getting together to enjoy each other's company for the duration of a drink and a good meal. 

Aziraphale was fairly sure he had the makings of a good excuse already. He just had to check the latest assignment he'd been sent from head office. 

_Oh, yes_ , he thought, as he retrieved the list of blessings from beneath a pile of mail on his desk. He read it carefully for the first time since he'd received it from Heaven eight days ago. _This will do nicely._

Several of the humans to be blessed were residents of Manchester. Since that entire city was technically under Crowley's jurisdiction, it made perfect sense to provide him the names, request that he take care of the blessings, and then offer to inconvenience a few people in return. 

Well, a few _extra_ people — beyond the ones he typically inconvenienced as a regular part of running a bookshop that kept uncertain hours and refused to part with certain books.

A week after he dropped off the note and six days after he received a favorable reply, Aziraphale sat down at their usual table at the Ritz and waited for Crowley to arrive. The jangling, anticipatory feeling that thrummed in his belly was nothing new. For hundreds of years now, he'd experienced that same mix of glee and nervousness when he was about to rendezvous with his dear old nemesis.

Crowley showed up ten minutes late, with a bounce in his step and a flashy grin.

"You're in a good mood," Aziraphale said. "Should I be worried?"

"Nah," Crowley said. "Nothing evil in the works. It's just a good day."

As he sat down, he picked up the list of blessings that Aziraphale had left on the table for him. He unfolded it, read it quickly, then tucked it away in his pocket. 

"Won't be any trouble," he said. "So what's for lunch?"

"Roast pheasant, with pomegranate. It sounds divine."

It turned out to be more delicious than Aziraphale had even imagined. The bird was roasted to perfection and each bite delivered the optimal balance of sweet and savory.

Lunch proceeded as usual. Crowley ate his standard few morsels, but spent most of his time observing as Aziraphale enjoyed the meal. They kept up a leisurely conversation about the state of the world and their general plans for the next several months. It was all very friendly and casual. 

When the food was done, Aziraphale sat back, his hunger sated, and smiled at his companion. That's when the bit of fluff caught his eye. It was pale and downy against the burnished copper of Crowley's hair.

"Oh, you've got something... just there," he said. 

He fluttered his hand towards the side of his own head in an attempt to pantomime the gesture that would shake it free. But Crowley just frowned at him, obviously not understanding what he meant.

"Oh, here, let me." Aziraphale leaned forward and reached for it.

All of a sudden, his face was very close to Crowley's — almost close enough to kiss him — moreover, he was combing his fingers through Crowley's hair. He tugged, very gently, to try and grasp that wily piece of fluff. When he missed and yanked harder on a lock of hair, Crowley went very still, his shallow breath ceasing entirely.

Clearly, he hadn't thought this through. 

Aziraphale ventured to look at him. Perhaps it was a trick of the light at such close proximity — not even the reflective lenses of Crowley's sunglasses could hide the way his eyes were blown yellow with no whites to be seen. Crowley gazed at him in a way that was absolutely recognizable. It was the brazen, almost worshipful look that one human might offer to another when they were both very deeply in love.

 _Oh, good Heavens_ , Aziraphale thought. 

He suddenly felt rather woozy. His heart pounded with an intensity typically reserved for the unfortunate occasions when he was obliged to jog alongside Gabriel. He wondered, was it possible to experience a heart attack induced only by hundreds of years of fervent longing? He was starting to think that, yes, it was.

He had to look away. If he didn't, he was sure he would discorporate on the spot, slain by the catastrophic power of his own foolish yearning. He forced his attention back to the task at hand.

"Ah, there it is," he said, getting hold of it at last and pulling it free. "Only a feather."

"Is it?" Crowley reached forward, caught Aziraphale by the wrist, and lifted his hand to look at it. 

Aziraphale watched it happen as if it were all very far away. Crowley's fingers were wrapped around his wrist. He imagined what it would feel like to be held just like this, except naked, with Crowley on top of him, pressing both of his wrists to the mattress and then fucking him. And, _oh goodness, no_ –

He snatched his hand away, startling Crowley. The wisp of a feather floated upwards, buoyed by an otherwise imperceptible current of air.

"What time is it?" Aziraphale said, a bit too loudly.

Crowley sat back and with a blink, his glasses were properly opaque once more. He checked his watch.

"It's one fifteen."

"I have to go," Aziraphale said. He pushed back his chair and stood up.

He could hear the wildness, the sense of panic rising in his own voice, but he didn't know how to stop it.

"I have an appointment about a rare first edition and I cannot be late."

He did not have any such appointment.

He was lying to his dearest friend, because the only alternative would be to admit how very much he wanted to be taken upstairs and then, well... taken again, but in a different manner, _downstairs_ — to use a truly terrible euphemism. 

"Where are you headed? I can give you a lift."

Crowley's reply sounded so full of hope that it nearly broke his heart to refuse him. But he had to. He _had_ to.

"Back to the bookshop, but I could use the fresh walk– the fresh air."

Crowley nodded.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale added.

"Nothing to apologize for. I understand."

"Yes, these appointments..." They weren't really talking about scheduling conflicts anymore. "A responsibility that– that gets in the way of how I'd prefer to spend my time. If only I were able to cancel them all and do what I like instead..."

"Right," Crowley said. "Well, good talk. Glad we both... understand how it is."

"I think we do."

Crowley's mouth quirked up at one side into a crooked smile. Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes anymore, but he was certain that if he could, he'd see a wealth of kindness there. He gazed back at Crowley, his own expression filled with a softness and loving regard he didn't even attempt to conceal.


	2. Crowley

_A.D. 2008_

Crowley had begun to consider his library-human to be an acquaintance in addition to a strategic asset. They had helped him find more than twenty books at this point. Without library-human, he would have been far less efficient at creating audiobooks exclusively for Aziraphale to purchase. Library-human did the research, offered book suggestions, remained calm under pressure, and — most importantly — refrained from asking questions or making assumptions about Crowley's personal life.

"Hello, Anthony." Library-human greeted him with a friendly wave. "I have a book."

"Oh?"

They set a slender paperback book on the desk and slid it towards Crowley. The title read _Falling for You_.

"Synopsis?" Crowley asked.

"A pair of trapeze artists survive a fall, and then fall for each other. Plenty of falling into bed, as well."

"Anything I should know about?"

Library-human shook their head. "No character death and no betrayals."

"That'll work for me, then." 

He checked out the book. (It should be noted that Crowley did not actually have a library card, furthermore, he rarely returned any of the books he'd borrowed. On the rare occasions he did, they were marked up with ink. Fortunately, nobody could remember this about him, so the entire check out process worked smoothly every time.)

After leaving the library, he stopped at a patissiere to buy something sweet for Aziraphale, and then ended up at the bookshop a few minutes later.

"I bought this," Crowley said, in lieu of a greeting. "And then I didn't want it. I was going to throw it away, but I was in the area, so..."

He held out the bag for Aziraphale, who was pleased to accept it, pleased to see him, and even more pleased that Crowley agreed to stay a while and join him for tea.

They spoke about a range of topics — work, the state of the world, that time in 1973 when they'd accidentally shared a pastry laced with psychedelics and everything had been swirly and terrifying for a few hours. They did not discuss the audiobooks. It had been nearly two years and the topic of audiobooks remained a spectre floating between them — which was _fine_. Crowley had hopes, not expectations.

He knew that at some point they'd probably have to talk about it. But it hadn't come to that yet and he wasn't about to rush into a conversation that Aziraphale wasn't ready for.

He could be patient.

So he kept acquiring library books, having friendly teas and lunches with Aziraphale, and then going back to his flat to record.

What he didn't anticipate was the arrival of the Antichrist. Nor could he have predicted how much everything would change because of it.

* * *

_A.D. 2019_

On the Monday morning after Doomsday failed, Crowley woke up alone. He was broken apart, utterly shattered into pieces, and he would probably never recover, but — and this was important — in a good way. 

He was lying in Aziraphale's bed, where last night the angel had fucked him until he'd lost track of every thought save those he could express with overwhelmed, ecstatic noises. After so many years of longing, he'd found relief, at last, in a powerful, transcendent orgasm that left him exhausted, barely able to move, and only dimly aware of the sticky mess of ejaculate; his own, smeared across his chest and belly, and Aziraphale's dripping out of him from where the angel had spent himself. Crowley didn't remember cleaning it up, so the angel must have taken care of him after he was sleeping. 

The thought left him feeling all sorts of warm, fuzzy things demons were not meant to feel.

"So that really happened," Crowley said. He knew for certain because of how sore he felt as he got up and stretched. 

No one else was in the room with him, but he kept speaking out loud anyway. There was no reason not to. It didn't matter anymore whether Hell was listening or Heaven had spies. 

They were on their own side now.

"And, as it turns out... our side fucks," he said into the quiet room. 

It really had been better than he'd ever imagined. Things had started out slowly, but they'd swiftly escalated to passionate and unrestrained. He was hoping Aziraphale might return for another go. But in the meantime, Crowley looked around the room. He'd never been here before.

The bedroom was small and crowded. Bookshelves lined the walls and they were overflowing with vellum-bound manuscripts and rare old quartos. On one shelf, tucked away near the corner, he saw perhaps two dozen modern books. 

But no, Crowley realized, as he stepped closer to read the titles. They weren't quite books, were they? These were something more familiar to him. He grinned to see them as he pulled a couple of them off the shelf. He hadn't thought about those in several years — not since the last one he made went unpurchased. He held onto them as he got dressed and then he made his way downstairs. 

He found Aziraphale busy organizing a stack of papers on the desk. 

"Hey," Crowley said, to catch his attention.

Aziraphale stopped what he was doing and smiled. It was not his typical smile of _oh there you are, Crowley, good to see you today_. This one was much softer. 

"So," Crowley said. "Last night. You think we'll do that again?" He was aiming for casual, but despite his best intentions, he was pretty sure he sounded desperate.

Aziraphale came over to him and rested his hand on Crowley's shoulder. 

"If you'll allow it," he said, "I'd like to do that with you all the time."

Crowley absolutely did not give his face permission to break into a bright, beaming, happy grin — but his face had plans of its own. And no matter what he tried, he couldn't thwart them.

Aziraphale leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

"What have you got there?" he asked as he stepped back again. He'd noticed the books in Crowley's hand.

It took Crowley a moment to respond. He was rubbing the place where the angel had kissed him. 

"Well," he said, bringing his attention back to the audiobooks. "This one looks like _Carve My Heart_." 

He remembered this one. It was about an ice sculptor and a delivery man — originally a gruesome tale of desire and murder. Crowley had changed it into a sweet romantic comedy by switching all the crimes into dream sequences and adjusting character traits as needed.

"And here we have _Broken Promises, Broken Legs_." He held up the second book.

That had been among Crowley's favorites — the one where the horse died. No doubt the author had intended it as a moment of heart-wrenching tragedy that brought the protagonists closer together, but in Crowley's reading it had been more of an underwhelming "oh, no, the horse didn't make it. So sad." The fiendish creature was soon forgotten as Crowley glossed over a full chapter of grieving and moved on to the comfort sex between the two main characters. 

"Oscar fears his riding days are over," Crowley said, echoing words he'd recorded years ago. "But not if John has anything to say about it."

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "Those–" 

He pointed to the books and swallowed. Crowley watched, fascinated by the rise and fall of his Adam's apple. 

"Those were hidden," Aziraphale said, his voice trembling. "By miracle."

"Nah," Crowley said. "Found a whole shelf full of them, right next to the _bed_." 

He said it with emphasis, because even thinking about the bed made him stir with arousal as he remembered all the things they'd done last night. The bed was definitely more interesting than these old audiobooks, but Aziraphale's surprised reaction was certainly worth interrogating.

"I wasn't even sure if you'd kept them."

"What?" Aziraphale said, and now he looked startled.

"After you ordered them from me, I'd hoped you were at least listening to them. Hard to be sure, though, since we never talked about it."

"What do you mean, _ordered them from you_."

"My internet shop."

"Wha– that was _you_!?"

"Course it was me, who else would it–" Crowley shook his head, astonished. "HonestSeller666 was the name of the store. You mean to tell me you _didn't know_?"

"I didn't linger on the details. It was all rather sordid."

Crowley laughed.

"Sordid!? Aziraphale, are you joking? I legitimately cannot tell right now. Last night you _fucked_ me–"

"That was loving! It was–" Aziraphale sighed. "All right, perhaps sordid was the wrong word."

He was blushing, which Crowley found absolutely charming. He set down the books and reached for Aziraphale's hand. He wasn't about to let the angel get away from him before they'd sorted this out.

"So, you listened to them?"

"Of course, I listened to them!"

"Good," Crowley said. "I mean, what a waste of all my talents if you hadn't."

Aziraphale's eyebrows did that charming, puzzled lift and for a moment he seemed at a loss for words. But then he said, "My dear, are you saying you created these specifically for me?"

Crowley leaned closer. He held Aziraphale's hand with both of his, and he began to rub slow circles there with one of his thumbs. 

"Obviously," Crowley said. "The first one didn't even exist until you ordered it."

"But–"

"I wasn't running a real store. It was all a bunch of fake listings to waste people's time."

"But how on earth–"

"My store received so much negative feedback, you wouldn't believe. I had to set up a server-side miracle for the complaints alone. It converted them all into glowing reviews."

He'd been proud of that, and he'd never been given proper credit. Hastur hadn't understood any of it, of course. And while he was certain the part about servers would be meaningless to Aziraphale, the angel was a small-business owner. As such, he had plenty of firsthand experience using miracles to make complaints disappear.

"That does sound clever." Aziraphale stepped closer, bringing his face merely inches from Crowley's. "But you know," he said, his gaze flickering down to Crowley's lips, "I was always _very_ satisfied." 

It sounded suggestive enough that Crowley stopped thinking about his store and all the devious magic he'd come up with to keep it running. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the way Aziraphale was staring at him. 

"Care to tell me why you kept those books on a shelf at your bedside?"

He had a pretty good idea already. Aziraphale simply confirmed it for him, when the next words he spoke sounded rough with desire.

"I _do_ enjoy the sound of your voice." 

Before he could say another word, Crowley kissed him. Nothing about it was tentative and almost immediately, Aziraphale opened his mouth. It felt wet and glorious, and it reminded Crowley just how much he wanted to drag this angel back to bed with him. But he still had questions, so he pulled away just far enough to speak.

"You stopped buying them. Why did you stop?"

"It was... everything with the Antichrist these past several years–"

"Killed the mood a bit, didn't it?" Crowley said.

"It certainly did," Aziraphale agreed. "But also, I got to see you more often. I wasn't forced to rely on the fantasy."

Crowley smiled to hear it. For so long he'd hoped that maybe — just maybe — Aziraphale thought about him when he wasn't around. And now, to have it confirmed, it was almost too much for his human heart to bear.

"Did I live up to it? To the fantasy?"

"Oh, my dear, it's the fantasy that falls short." He pressed his hand to Crowley's chest, to the place above his heart. 

"Although," he added. "There is one thing I'd hoped you might indulge with me..."

Crowley was listening.

☆

This time, there wasn't a book to read and record. It was simpler than that — no elaborate devices required. And no clothing either. They were naked, sitting side-by-side at the edge of the bed, when Crowley began to tell the story. 

"In the beginning," he said, "they were meant to be adversaries."

He turned to Aziraphale and kissed him. Gently, Crowley eased him backwards and guided him further onto the bed. 

"If they'd followed the plot, they would have destroyed each other six thousand years ago."

With a hand on the angel's hip, Crowley anchored himself and knelt between his legs. He gazed into Aziraphale's eyes, watching him. The angel took a breath — audible as he drew it in, trembling as he let it out. 

"Yes," he whispered and kept his eyes on Crowley. "Keep going."

Crowley licked his lips. Aziraphale's cock was full and hard, and right there for the taking. But he didn't take it yet.

"Neither of them liked the idea of smiting anything, so they had a conversation instead," he said. "Not so bad, really. And pretty soon they were getting together to do other things..."

He moved his mouth closer.

"...Like having lunch. Sharing a drink. Working together. All very friendly activities."

Now it was time. He took Aziraphale's cock in hand and guided it into his mouth. Crowley sucked him deep, swallowing him to the back of his throat. His mouth was much too full and his eyes were watering, but he didn't mind the discomfort of it. Aziraphale's scent was heaviest here between his thighs, delicious and intoxicating as Crowley breathed it in. 

He kept going, stroking and sucking, listening to the soft, murmured _yeses_ and the incoherent, pleasured sounds that the angel made as he slipped closer towards the precipice of orgasm. At the end, it was clear that Aziraphale couldn't control how his body reacted. He bucked his hips, thrusting hard into Crowley's mouth. 

It might have hurt had Crowley not reacted quickly enough to make sure that it didn't. Almost idly, he wondered if Hell were paying attention to his miracles. He could scarcely imagine what they would think of this evening's list: one miracle to the principality Aziraphale's clothes (removing them), three to his own genitalia (don't come yet, you idiot), and now a miracle to prevent Aziraphale's cock from slamming too hard against the back of his throat. All that, and the evening was just getting started. 

With one more thrust, Aziraphale came, spilling himself thick and bitter. Crowley drank it all down and then pulled back to wipe away the last of it, which dripped from his mouth. He looked up at Aziraphale and grinned.

"Their friendship was a secret," he said, picking up the story right where he'd left off.

He moved up the bed, coming face to face with Aziraphale, who reached for him, held him close, and said, "Imagine if we'd been doing that all along."

"I absolutely did imagine it," Crowley said. That earned him an open-mouthed look of surprise from the angel, which only lasted a second before it settled into a pleased-looking grin.

And then Crowley shook his head, not as part of the story but because Aziraphale had taken his cock in hand and was stroking him. The angel had slicked himself to glide along his length and work him gently. It felt good — he was desperately hard — but he didn't plan to spend himself at the mercy of soft caresses. 

"Don't," he whispered. "I don't want to come till I'm fucking you."

Those words had quite an effect. Aziraphale looked at him with desire overflowing from his bright, angelic gaze. His hand went still. 

"What are you waiting for?" he said, and shifted his legs, making room for Crowley between them.

"They kept so many secrets," Crowley said, resuming the story. 

He sat back, lifting Aziraphale's hips, and bringing himself into position for everything he was about to do next. 

"They couldn't talk about the way it felt when their bodies were close. When their shoulders brushed or when they passed a wineskin between them and their fingers touched. It was welcome and warm, with a spark there — like something electric."

With a miracle, he summoned oil to his fingers and applied them to the delicate task of massaging Aziraphale open.

"Humans have their ways of being intimate," he said.

Crowley was stroking his own cock, too, as he worked two fingers inside of Aziraphale, who continued to encourage him by rocking his hips and whispering to him, "Oh, my darling, yes."

"The demon saw them fornicate," Crowley said. "It was strange, what they did. And yet, he wanted to know what it felt like to do all those same things with the angel."

Despite his recent climax, Aziraphale's cock grew hard again. Crowley watched as it filled and thickened. He now knew exactly how it felt to have that fat, beautiful cock inside of him. The memory of being spread open and fucked was compelling enough to require another miracle of the _don't come yet_ variety applied to his own genitalia.

He shifted position, aligning himself and getting ready for the way he wanted to do this — a mix of words and actions, so that story and sensation would work in tandem and heighten the pleasure for both of them.

"He didn't actually think it would happen." 

Crowley moved his hips very gently forward. It wasn't a thrust. The head of his cock pressed against Aziraphale, but he didn't slip inside. Not yet. Instead, he kept talking. 

"How could an angel ever want what he wanted?"

Crowley pushed very softly, dipping in just a little, then pulling out to press at his entrance again. 

"What sort of angel would allow himself to be vulnerable..."

"Yes," Aziraphale whispered, "please, please do that again." 

Crowley entered him again, pushing a bit further this time.

"What angel would let himself be taken by a demon?"

Aziraphale groaned, loud and wanton. Crowley rewarded him with several shallow thrusts before pulling out once more.

"Sex? No, surely that would never happen between them." 

Aziraphale canted his hips, attempting to bring himself back into contact, to fuck himself onto Crowley if only he could reach. With a hand on his hip, Crowley held him back. 

"I won't tease you much longer, angel," he said. "Just give me a minute here?"

Aziraphale nodded. He sounded breathless when he answered. "Oh, certainly. It does seem I'm rather desperate for you."

Crowley petted his thigh — to reassure him if he could. 

"Back to the story, yeah?"

"Yes, go– go right ahead."

Crowley drew a deep breath and resumed.

"The demon was certain he wanted too much."

He gave another shallow thrust, just a tease of heat and tightness, before pulling out again. It was maddening to do this. He was torturing himself with his own restraint.

"But sometimes, the angel looked at him like he was beautiful. Like he was worthy. And it gave him hope."

He made eye contact with Aziraphale and held that gaze long and steady as he tilted forward, and sheathed himself deep inside. Crowley shuddered as he fought the urge to simply let go.

"It took a long time," he said. He started to move, not fast the way he wanted, but achingly slow. "Almost too long. But they made it. They held hands at the end of the world. And the world didn't end. They saved it together."

"Well..." Aziraphale lifted his head from the pillow. He was flushed and shaking, but he managed to laugh as he added, "...not sure _they_ saved it."

Crowley laughed and began to pick up the pace.

"They saved each other anyway," he said. "They chose each other."

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He began to move his hips, rising to meet each stroke. Crowley responded by fucking him harder.

"They gave their bodies to each other," he said. He meant it in all possible ways — exchanging corporations, having sex, and anything else they hadn't figured out yet, but might in years to come. 

"And now they're here. In a bed. In a bookshop in London."

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He was stroking himself in the space between them, his hand moving faster and faster.

"They're making love," Crowley said and he couldn't believe he was calling it that.

It was enough to make the angel take the Lord's name in vain. "Oh, God... they are..." 

With one more cry, Aziraphale spilled his seed between them. And that was all Crowley needed. He released the final miracle of _don't come yet, you idiot_ — which he'd been relying on for the past five minutes. He thrust in deep and hard, one last time, and then let go. Relief and pleasure exploded through him. And the next thing he knew, Aziraphale was gathering him into his arms.

Crowley looked up into that bright, smiling face — the one that had become so unbearably dear to him.

"And the demon lived happily ever after," he said.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale said. "So did the angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! You can find me [on tumblr](http://reignbowbrite.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Last Battle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210393) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)




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